


Winter Games

by poselikeateam



Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [12]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bad Puns, Banter, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Fluff and Humor, Geralt being a little shit, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Asshole, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Good Friend Eskel (The Witcher), Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Little Shit, Lambert Being a Little Shit (The Witcher), M/M, Mating Bond, Mind Meld, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Old Married Couple, POV Alternating, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Parent Vesemir (The Witcher), Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Possessive Jaskier | Dandelion, Puns & Word Play, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg is So Done, but in a funny way, but only vaguely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: Sequel to “The Essence of Belonging” — Now that Geralt and Jaskier are together, Geralt invites him to Kaer Morhen. Just how long will it take the other witchers fo figure out what his bard really is?
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert & Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754371
Comments: 214
Kudos: 1330
Collections: Just.... So cute..., The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. Chapter 1

Being bonded to one another is honestly not as life-changing as they may have thought. They don’t act any different than they did before, except… well, admittedly, their relationship has changed, but that doesn’t come from the bond. So maybe it isn’t that they don’t act any different than they had before, but rather that they don’t act any different than two people who are now in a romantic relationship after decades of pining after one another. 

Admittedly, Geralt is not very good at considering, thinking about, discussing, cataloguing, or acknowledging emotions or really anything to do with them. He experiences them, but it’s easier to just let it happen and then pay no thought to it afterwards. So, forgive him for not being very good at it now that he tries. 

Being bonded to Jaskier doesn’t really change him, doesn’t change _them_. They still bicker. They still get on each other’s nerves. They still play-fight. They still find comfort in one another. It’s just that now, they can do so much _more_. Now, rather than furtive glances in one another’s direction when either thinks the other isn’t looking, instead of nights spent full of longing, they can sleep tangled together, can share absent-minded kisses. Geralt can, for maybe the first time, really indulge in and savour physical contact with another person. 

Jaskier is still a little shit. No amount of bond magic will ever change that and, well, Geralt will privately admit that he wouldn’t want it to. A quiet Jaskier would not be Jaskier, and so Geralt does not want that. (Sometimes he wouldn’t mind if Jaskier would be quiet for a moment, though — but by now, the bard seems to know when he really _needs_ a moment of peace, and thankfully complies.) The bard will still make comments about his hair, his clothes, his lack of social skills. Geralt will make petty jabs back, and they’ll both pretend to be offended before softening into whatever companionable conversation is bound to follow. “Go fuck yourself,” will be followed by, “I love you too, dear.” 

The point is that it doesn’t change them as people, and it doesn’t change their dynamic. If he concentrates, he can feel Jaskier — not physically, but like a sort of undercurrent to his own consciousness. Jaskier described it as “our very souls holding hands”, or something like that, but Geralt is no poet. He describes it as simply a presence, a comfort that is always there if only he reaches out to it. He finds that understanding the bard is easier, as is being understood by him. It’s almost as if there’s something in his head that translates the differences in their understanding of things. 

For example, when Jaskier came too close to a fight for the first time after they’d bonded, Geralt was furious, perhaps more than usual. He turned, looked Jaskier in the eyes, and —

Somehow, he had understood. Jaskier wants to see Geralt in his element. He looks at Geralt fighting monsters and doesn’t see something ugly and frightening, but beautiful and graceful. He wants to see, not only for himself, but for his songs; the songs he writes so that others can, if only for the length of his performance, see Geralt in the light that he does. So that others can see something not to be feared, but cherished, revered; so that they see not something monstrous, but awe-inspiring and heroic. 

And Jaskier — he had understood, finally, what Geralt could never seem to properly explain. The fear of him getting in the way, of getting hurt. He had never understood (Geralt knows this, now, he _understands_ ) because, well, his kind do not die easily, and that’s putting it mildly. But Geralt, though he knows this, could never stand the thought of seeing him _hurt_. He couldn’t imagine — no, he could, he has nightmares, sometimes, of Jaskier struck down by his blade. And though Jaskier wants to see him, and wants to protect him, he only gets in the way. He is a distraction, opening Geralt to at least a thousand and one things that could go wrong, could finally kill him.

It had been dizzying, this sudden paradigm shift, the way that their parallel viewpoints abruptly intersected. And it wasn’t the only time this happened, but it was the first, and perhaps the most drastic.

There is also… well, Geralt doesn’t _like_ it, but they can feel each other’s pain. Not to the same degree, of course — it’s just that they’re _aware_ of it. Sometimes Geralt will come back from a fight and see Jaskier absently rubbing at his own arm in the same spot the witcher had been slashed by a creature’s claws. Sometimes the bard will finish stitching him up only to say, “Okay, now the other one,” and Geralt realises that there are other, smaller wounds he simply hadn’t noticed because they just weren’t as severe. 

It goes the other way too, of course. Sometimes Geralt will get so thirsty that he drains his water skin and it doesn’t help, and he realises that Jaskier needs blood. For all the time he spends taking care of Geralt — and chiding him for not paying enough mind to his own wellbeing — he’s shit at noticing his own needs. 

“I’ve survived centuries without your help,” he grumbles. 

“And I survived without you,” Geralt answers, “but apparently neither of us were any good at it.”

And Jaskier softens, and bites him, and it’s — it’s fucking incredible, he has no idea how it can be this _good_ to have something’s _teeth_ in his flesh but fuck, he isn’t complaining. 

So, nothing has changed, and everything has changed, and they are really living their best life together. The mating bite — that bite that will never fade sits at the junction of his neck and shoulder, so it’s hidden by his armour and most tunics, and even if it weren’t there’s barely anyone who’d blink at another scar on a witcher. That means that, theoretically, they could keep this development private for the rest of time, if they wanted.

It’s just that… well. Yes, Geralt is a very private man, by necessity, and Jaskier gets paid the most by people who think they have a chance with him, who want to impress him right into their beds. They don’t need to shout to the world what they mean to each other, but they are not ashamed. There are, after all, people they care about, people they consider friends and even family. It would make no sense to hide from those people, and neither of them want to. 

At the same time, they won’t go out of their way to say it, either.

So, they decide to have a little fun with it. Most of the people they know assumed they were together before Geralt even knew his own feelings on the matter, and then were incredibly frustrated to learn that no, Geralt has the emotional range of a raisin, and Jaskier is only good at romance that is either casual, strictly sexual, or doesn’t directly involve him. 

Finding out that they’re together, then, is going to produce some interesting reactions, and that’s without the added revelation of their newly-formed bond, or of what Jaskier truly is.

Maybe Jaskier’s mischievous nature is rubbing off on him. Maybe he’s just kind of an asshole, himself. It’s probably both of those things, really, that factor into making him suggest this game of theirs. 

See, most people don’t know what Jaskier is. He hides it very well, as all his kind tend to. So, there are a few layers to this game. Really, it’s less of a game and more ‘let’s fuck with the people we care about’, but Jaskier insists on calling it a game and Geralt is personally terrible at not indulging the bard in things like this. Essentially, they plan on taking whatever facet of _this_ that others are unaware of, and seeing how long it takes for them to figure it out on their own. For most, it will be their relationship and Jaskier’s nature. For Yennefer, it will only be the former.

Yennefer is their first target, partly because they’re reasonably sure they’ll run into her before anyone else. She knows what Jaskier is because of, well, the whole djinn thing. She will very likely be able to feel the magic of their bond — it is small, but strong, even for a mating bond. They know that it won’t take long for her to figure it out, but they (mostly Jaskier) are looking forward to her reaction. 

So, when they see Yennefer next, they’re more than ready to test their hypothesis. Jaskier thinks she will say something snide and cutting that hides a nice sentiment, and Geralt thinks that she will barely react, to prove that she is not easily ruffled. 

They’re both wrong. 

She portals into their campsite one day. Geralt is organising his pack, Jaskier is fiddling with his lute, and Roach is eating some lovely wildflowers, a few of which Jaskier had managed to braid into both her and their witcher’s hair first. Yennefer takes exactly two and a half steps toward their little group, stops dead, and stares at them. 

The three of them — Roach, obviously, is not included, as the flowers are far more important than anything else — stare at one another for just a little too long. Before Jaskier can say anything (Geralt is under no illusions — the bard is the most likely to break any silence, of the two of them) Yennefer points at them and simply shouts, “Finally!” 

“Uh… what?” Jaskier asks, clearly bewildered.

“Don’t play dumb, bard,” Yennefer says with a roll of her eyes. “Gods know you don’t need to play at it.” 

Jaskier’s irritated noise is deeply amusing to Geralt, but he keeps his smirk to himself.

The sorceress continues, “You’re finally together. Do you have any idea how fucking exhausting it was watching you pine after each other like _children_? And you!” She turns to Geralt, and suddenly this is not quite as funny as it was moments ago. “How bloody long did it take you to figure out he’s a vampire?”

That’s… hm. It’s fair, honestly, but he doesn’t have to admit that. Or answer.

Unfortunately, Jaskier does not agree. Perhaps as payback for Geralt’s earlier amusement at his expense, he answers for the witcher — and far too cheerily. “Oh, it all happened at the same time, actually.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she groans.

“Nope!” Jaskier answers. 

“He scent marked me,” Geralt says, unprompted, because he can’t be the only one who is being judged right now. They’re equally inept, thank you.

“I’m sorry?”

Jaskier scowls at him now, crosses his arms. “He didn’t know I was a vampire until other vampires told him.”

Yennefer’s eye actually visibly twitches. “Boys,” she snaps, “enough.”

“We’re grown men,” Geralt grumbles.

“And yet, you never seem to act like it,” she snipes back. Which, again, fair but harsh.

All in all, they feel sort of congratulated (he thinks? These things are always very confusing when coming from Yennefer, after all). They also feel very judged. It’s one of those things that, looking back later, they will probably find hilarious. At the moment, it’s just sort of awkward. 

His brothers will be a lot more fun, though.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update, if you'll indulge me: I have [a twitter](https://twitter.com/poselikeateam) now! Follow me there if you want to get in touch with me, if you want updates on other projects I might be working on, if you want to support my work, or anything else! There's nothing really there just yet, but I expect to be using it a lot in the future.

When Geralt says the words, “Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Jaskier is honestly through the fucking moon. Being invited to what is essentially Geralt’s childhood home? Huge. Fucking. Deal. He couldn’t be more excited.

And then he remembers that Geralt’s entire family are actually also witchers, and probably won’t take too kindly to a vampire coming to spend the winter months with them.

“That’s part of the fun,” Geralt smirks, and damn him, but he looks so _handsome_ when he does that. “How long do you think it will take them to notice?”

Oh, he likes this. Geralt’s mischievous side is a lot of things, and when it isn’t directed towards Jaskier, all of them are very, very good. 

See, Jaskier has never actually been to Kaer Morhen, nor has he met any of Geralt’s brothers. He’s heard many stories about the people and the place, and though Geralt is rarely forthcoming with any sort of information, Jaskier likes to think he has an idea of what the other witchers are like. And before Geralt had come into his life, he had heard stories of the School of the Wolf. Fuck, he remembers when it was first being built.

He doesn’t look it, of course — but that doesn’t really matter, with just a touch of power swirling behind his voice every now and again, severing the connection between his youthful appearance and the length of his career in the thoughts of those who listen. His youthful appearance needn’t be questioned when it can’t be noticed, after all. 

That doesn’t work on witchers, obviously — well, he’s pretty sure, anyway. Witchers are all but immune to most mind-control type effects, after all, and a bit stupid about how aging works besides, so it isn’t worth the effort. If he tried it, their medallions would go wild, shaking all about very distractingly, so he hasn’t even bothered with the attempt. Thankfully, as previously stated, witchers tend to be just a little dense when it comes to the rate at which humans are supposed to age, so he only really needs to bother using his powers on humans anyway. 

That’s not actually the point, however. He’s getting distracted, because this is a lot to process. A winter spent with all of the (known, remaining) witchers of the Wolf School at the same time, in their ancient fortress, is tantamount to spending the winter with Geralt’s family in his childhood home — as both an historian and his lover, Jaskier is pretty fucking excited (and, he’ll privately admit, just a little on the nervous side). 

He is most worried, as lovers tend to be, about meeting the closest thing Geralt has ever had to a father. Though he’s never met Vesemir, the oldest witcher apparently knows about him. Even before Geralt had actually admitted that they were friends, all of the remaining Wolves of Kaer Morhen heard story after story, complaint after complaint about the bard for _ages_. 

Vesemir, like Jaskier, is an instructor, and from what he has heard of the man, he often waits for his students to figure out their own mistakes before quickly and unapologetically correcting them. So, even if he’s already figured out that Jaskier is not quite human, when he realises what the bard truly is, he isn’t going to spoil their fun. Geralt has assured him of that.

They predict, in the end, that Vesemir will catch on to the nature of both Geralt’s bard and his relationship with said bard within moments of their arrival. Eskel will probably be next to figure out their relationship, and Lambert will be last; it will, they decide, be the reverse for his vampiric nature — Lambert, then Eskel, though they will likely figure it out within minutes of each other. After all, both are very capable witchers, but Eskel is the most emotionally competent of the three brothers (while they are not brothers in blood, they are brothers in so much _more_ , after all). 

It doesn’t take long before it’s time to test their theory, of course. Now that he knows that Jaskier is fully capable of making the difficult trek to Kaer Morhen, there’s no reason for them to part for the winter. (If Jaskier had known that his assumed fragility had been the thing holding Geralt back from pursuing him, from opening up to him, he might have said something a lot sooner.)

At any rate, they make their way up the mountains without any trouble, a rare blessing for the two of them. Finally, the ancient keep looms over the horizon.

It’s gorgeous.

Yes, it’s crumbling in several places, clearly looking a bit worse for wear, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. All the rich history in those crumbling stones, oh, the stories these halls could tell, the songs the ghosts of the past could sing—

“Geralt,” barks a voice that Jaskier has never heard before. It is gruff, but in a different way from his witcher’s, and a fair bit older-sounding. There is an air of authority that reminds him of his more severe instructors at the Academy. Jaskier looks up and sees, of course, another witcher — but he does indeed look older than Geralt. His hair is greyed with time, rather than mutations, and he bears the countenance of a man who has seen far too much in his time.

“Vesemir,” Geralt answers. It doesn’t escape Jaskier that his witcher’s voice sounds almost warm — warm for Geralt, in any case. 

So this is Vesemir. Jaskier has heard a good bit about the older witcher, of course, after much wheedling on his part. Honestly, Geralt had described him well, in Jaskier’s opinion.

He feels like he ought to introduce himself, but he doesn’t want to interrupt their reunion — after all, Geralt sees the other witchers of his school only during the winter, unless they happen to cross each other on the Path. However, it seems that the choice is made for him when he is pinned by a shrewd amber gaze.

Vesemir looks at him, then looks at Geralt, then looks at the partially exposed bond mark on Geralt’s neck, and then looks back at him. While Jaskier had been warned about Vesemir’s uncanny observational skills, it’s one thing to hear about it and an entirely different thing to have it turned on him. 

“Hmm,” the older witcher finally says. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

And Jaskier, because no amount of centuries will make him any less of a little shit, quips back, “Of course he knows what he’s doing. Or, at the very least, he knows what’s doing him.”

Honestly, he counts himself lucky that he gets away with it with no worse consequence than one of Geralt’s punches. He doesn’t know Vesemir well enough to tell, but he likes to hope that the oldest witcher is secretly amused by him.


	3. Chapter 3

“Why do I put up with you?” Geralt grouses as he leads his idiot through the halls of Kaer Morhen. 

Jaskier, for his part, simply shrugs. “My wit? My voice? My body? The myriad of ways I care for you?”

Geralt pretends to consider the bard’s words, and then shakes his head and says, “Nah, can’t come up with a single reason.”

Jaskier scoffs. “You love me.”

“Someone has to,” Geralt teases back. “I drew the short straw.”

The bard makes an indignant noise, mock-offended, and smacks Geralt on the shoulder. While the witcher still pulls his punches — hasn’t been able to shake the habit, even knowing what Jaskier really is — his bard does not. It’s weirdly comforting, the way it stings a little. It’s a reminder that under all his frills and feigned incompetence, Jaskier is strong, safe. 

As he’d expected, Jaskier has a myriad of questions about the place. It’s as if each stone they pass is some work of art, and Geralt is the reluctant tour guide. There are a lot of memories that he doesn’t want to drag to the surface, but thanks to what he assumes is a mix of their bond and Jaskier’s uncanny ability to read him like a book after _decades_ of companionship, the bard knows when he’s come a little too close to hitting a nerve.

They spend the rest of the afternoon wandering the keep, more or less. Geralt wants Jaskier to be able to navigate the place, after all. He’s going to have to pull his weight just like the rest of them this winter, and he’s going to be _living_ here, so he needs to know where things are. 

(Admittedly, they linger in their bedroom a little longer than they need to, but — well, it had been a long journey. No reason not to warm up, share body heat.)

They’re making their way across the training yard when Geralt spies Lambert — or maybe Lambert spies him first. It doesn’t actually matter. Either way the cocky little shit is coming up to them, and the look on his face is practically screaming, _’it’s time to start some shit!’_

“Geralt,” he says, “you brought a friend. Didn’t know you could make friends.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Jaskier, this is Lambert. You’re going to want to kick his ass at some point. Just don’t kill him, or Vesemir won’t let you come back next winter.” He’s teasing, of course, and they both know it. If they don’t, he’ll be surprised — they should be used to his dry humour by now.

Lambert cackles and says, “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Jaskier raises one eyebrow and says, “Hm. You’re Lambert, then? Strange, I’d imagined you’d be taller.” Then, to Geralt, he adds, “No bloodshed this winter, dear. Well— not _that_ kind, anyway.”

They’re both laying it on a little thick, and Geralt is almost worried that they’ve ruined the game before it’s even started. Only, Lambert looks between the two of them with an expression of mild to moderate disgust and says, “Gross. Thank fuck Eskel’s the poor bastard whose room is by yours. I don’t need to know what kind of weird shit you’re getting up to with your human.”

Okay, so that’s a lot to process.

One: apparently, their flirting is very obvious. It’s amusing, because this is just how they acted long before they were actually _together_ in a romantic sense. He’s coming to understand all those little jibes Ciri has made about them being an old married couple more and more. 

Two: Lambert caught on to their relationship surprisingly quickly. Apparently, even though he is (in Geralt’s humble opinion) the most obnoxious little shit to ever come out of the Wolf School, he knows a thing or two about emotions, or romance, or interpersonal relationships. Geralt will admit that he underestimated his brother in this regard.

Three: their hints have had no impact, and Lambert still thinks Jaskier is human, which means that the game can continue. Good. It would be a shame to have to quit before the winter has even started. They haven’t even seen Eskel yet.

Geralt loves his brothers. (Yes, even Lambert.) He likes to pretend that they irritate him more than they do, but honestly, they are the only people who have ever understood him — at least, before Jaskier came along they were. The three of them had gone through the same things, after all — the same childhood, the same hardships, the same pain. While he has never had siblings by blood, he has met others who do — of course he has. The way that brothers by birth act with each other is the same way that he acts with his brothers. 

That is to say, they irritate each other to no end, they fight like wild dogs, they push each other’s buttons deliberately, they insult one another with abandon — and at the end of the day, they would lay down their lives for one another. 

So, honestly, he really wants his brothers and Jaskier to get along. He wants them to like each other. He knows that the other witchers can be a lot to get used to, but… well, he was worse, when he and Jaskier met. They’re all different people, but that just means that they’re all assholes in different ways.

Well, Eskel is a sweetheart, actually, but that can be annoying in its own way.

The point is, when he sees Jaskier and Lambert start bickering, he’s immensely glad that they’ve hit it off so quickly. After all, they’re both little shits by nature. Lambert is a bit more of an asshole about it, generally, but they both enjoy the chance to snark and snip at someone and he can tell how much each of them is enjoying going toe-to-toe with a kindred spirit.

“So,” Eskel says from beside him, as if Geralt had summoned him with his thoughts, “this is your bard?”

“Mhm,” Geralt answers. He’s still watching Jaskier and Lambert battle it out, but he’s not actually listening. He’s just used to having to keep an eye on the bard in these situations, ready to intervene when his idiot crosses a line. 

“Wondered when you’d finally bring him along,” says Eskel, his tone halfway to teasing. “You look good. Happier.”

“Hmm,” he says, because he doesn’t really have a better response. It’s true — he _is_ happier. He didn’t think that happiness like this was _for_ someone like him before Jaskier came along and all but forced him to accept that maybe it _could_ be. It’s just that he’s not good at this sort of thing, at putting things like this to words. He doesn’t _do_ sappy confessions or grand declarations of love or any of that shit. He’ll leave that to Jaskier, thank you. 

Still, it’s one thing to know that he is happier, that his life is better, and it is another thing entirely to have others notice and bring it up.

“He’s a handful,” Geralt says, after a short, companionable silence. “A real pain in the arse. But he’s _my_ pain in the arse.”

Eskel laughs, claps him on the shoulder, and wanders over to where Lambert and Jaskier have apparently gone from bickering to commiserating. Jaskier is all smiles, sunny and polite when they make their introductions, and the genuine smile he gets back from Eskel makes the whole yard feel a little warmer. 

Yeah, this is going to be a good winter.


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt’s brothers are a fucking treat. 

Honestly, he really means it. Lambert is an absolute dickhead, but he’s the kind of absolute dickhead that Jaskier prefers the company of. It’s nice to be able to just chat shit with someone who’ll give as good as they get, and it’s different from the way that he and Geralt bicker. It’s a little more of a savage, cut-to-the-quick type thing. 

Eskel, on the other hand, is a total sweetheart. He’s the polar opposite of both Geralt and Lambert, in different ways — Lambert, because of the aforementioned dickhead/sweetheart dichotomy, and Geralt, because Eskel is a fantastic conversationalist. Really, the two of them could talk, and _have talked_ , for _hours_. Eskel enjoys the arts — literature and poetry, specifically. He is genuinely interested in the finer points of Jaskier’s craft, and while he does love Geralt dearly, it’s so nice to be able to have a conversation like this outside of Oxenfurt. 

Vesemir is a different story. It’s not as though Jaskier doesn’t like him, it’s just that he hasn’t gotten much of a chance to be around or interact with him. They’ve spoken a little here and there, but they rarely cross paths. It doesn’t really bother him. The oldest witcher is busy, does his own thing, and as long as Jaskier pitches in with the chores over the winter Vesemir doesn’t have any sort of problem with him being there.

The chores aren’t actually difficult. At first he’d been given easier sorts of tasks, those fit for a human — cleaning and organising the library, peeling potatoes, feeding the animals. The thing is, the inhabitants of Kaer Morhen divvy up the chores between themselves, and since two of them don’t know that he isn’t human, and the other two aren’t telling… well, he gets the least physically taxing and most mind-numbingly boring jobs of the lot. 

It ends up giving him an idea of how to move forward in their little game. One morning, he gets up before everyone else — which, actually, is hard as fuck, considering witchers are shit sleepers and practically consider it “sleeping in” to wake up at the arse crack of dawn. Geralt tries to get him to go to bed the night before but he explains that no, if he goes to sleep he’ll never get up and then he’ll have to peel fucking carrots all day again and he’d rather drink water hag blood. Geralt snorts out a little laugh and Jaskier sits next to him and pets his hair with one hand while playing around with a poem he’s been working on with the other, and just before the sky starts to lighten into a dull grey, he slips out of bed, dresses himself, and makes his way outside. 

It isn’t quite dawn yet, and there’s been no breakfast, but neither of those things really matters to one such as him. While he enjoys sleeping in, and enjoys a hearty meal, he doesn’t need those things, and he certainly doesn’t need light to see. Besides, what he needs to see is the rubble of a crumbling stone wall, anyway, and it would be easy enough to make out even if he had the unfortunate eyesight of a mere human.

As much as he usually shies away from manual labour, it feels good to be able to stretch his muscles and actually _do something_ once in a while. It’s so rare to have an opportunity to use his real strength, after all. So, for once, he doesn’t even really notice the hours passing as he hums to himself, lifting large stones several times his own weight and stacking them on top of one another, cementing them together with the substance the witchers have been using for that purpose.

He is very strong and fast, and while he isn’t using his full speed, he is still making short work of it. This section of wall is almost entirely repaired by time the three youngest witchers come out of the keep, just in time to see him lift a stone that is nearly his own size with ease. 

“What the fuck?” someone asks. He, admittedly, hasn’t learned their voices very well yet. He hasn’t been there very long, after all, and he doesn’t get to spend as much time with the other men as he’d like. 

“Lambert’s peeling the bloody potatoes today,” he says simply, setting the stone in place as if it weighed no more than a simple brick. 

“Why me?” squawks the same voice, which apparently belongs to Lambert. 

“I’m sick of it,” Jaskier says, turning around and placing his hands on his hips, “and you’re the youngest.”

“He has a point,” Geralt says, half agreeing with his lover and half teasing his brother. 

“You just agree because you’re fucking,” grumbles the youngest witcher. He looks like a petulant child, and Jaskier barely holds back a laugh.

“Come now, run along, let the adults work,” he says, unable to stop himself from riling Lambert up just a bit. It’s never too early to have some fun, after all.

“Fuck you,” Lambert grumbles, “I’m older than you.”

Jaskier raises one brow. “You’re sure about that?”

“Quit your bickering and get to work,” barks Vesemir, surprising all of them but making only Jaskier jump. Fucking sneaky witchers. “I don’t care who does what, as long as it gets done. Bard, you can take a break. At least someone around here has a fucking work ethic.”

Okay, Jaskier has decided that he absolutely adores Vesemir. Old man humour is the best, and since Vesemir knows about their little game… well, Jaskier has nothing against him becoming a part of it. Plus, well, he can’t help but preen just a little under the unexpected praise.

“Yes sir,” he answers, only a little cheeky. “I suppose a bit of breakfast wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

As he saunters back toward the keep, he hears a voice that (by process of elimination) he identifies as Eskel’s say, “Damn, Geralt, he must be the strongest human I’ve ever met. You make him do a lot of heavy lifting on the Path?”


	5. Chapter 5

Geralt honestly cannot believe what idiots his brothers are. He is, of course, going to ignore how long it took him to realise what Jaskier is, mostly because Jaskier hadn’t ever dropped such heavy hints to him. Also, he never wanted to think about it. Part of the reason Vesemir constantly reminded them to never get attached is, well, it’s more difficult to see the things you don’t want to — and if you’re close to someone, you might not want to look too closely at the things that make them… different. 

The point isn’t that he’s got a history of willful ignorance where Jaskier is involved. The _point_ is that his brothers are fucking stupid.

None of them could repair that stretch of outer wall as quickly as Jaskier did, even with the mutagens and strength training they’d endured. If they could, it would have been done by now, if only so they would stop having to hear Vesemir complain about it. Fuck, Vesemir would have done it himself, with all the time he’s spent in the crumbling keep by himself. 

Eskel asks him about it, of course, as Jaskier walks towards the fortress with Lambert, and Geralt only shrugs. He doesn’t want to lie, to make up some kind of excuse — that would ruin the game, after all — but he doesn’t really have a good answer that won’t just give it away. He knows that the strength Jaskier possesses is not natural for humans, because Jaskier is not human. Anything else he says would be a lie — and a poor one, at that. Geralt has never been very good at lying. Thankfully, his brothers are used to him not answering questions, and the one who would have tried to push for an answer is currently stuck on kitchen duty. 

That’s good, of course, because that’s where Jaskier is right now, and he is far better with words than Geralt could ever hope to be. Lying (embellishing, enhancing, bending the truth — Jaskier can call it whatever he wants, but at the end of the day it is not the truth) is his profession, his bread and butter. Jaskier is a master of talking without actually saying anything, of obscuring the truth without telling an outright lie. He also lies through his teeth almost compulsively, because apparently it is very easy to get bored at his age.

The two of them — that is to say, Geralt and Eskel — pass the time in relative silence. He has always gotten along with Eskel since they were boys, and part of it is that though Eskel loves a good conversation, he never tries to force it. He is just as comfortable in a companionable silence as he is discussing whatever he’s been reading lately. Geralt likes Lambert, in a fashion, but sometimes he can be a little too much to deal with. They often come to blows just because Lambert gets bored and riles him up, and Geralt lets himself get annoyed.

He almost feels bad for leaving Jaskier with him, but… well, Jaskier is much the same, save for the punching.

Later, Geralt finds out that Lambert did not ask Jaskier about his show of strength, because he had been too busy griping about being stuck with kitchen duty. Usually this early in the winter they take turns with it, or they play Gwent and the loser has to deal with it. He understands that his lover doesn’t want to keep doing it, and he understands why his brothers may have been excited to have a ‘fragile human’ to peel potatoes for the rest of the winter. Of course, once they start getting sore from training and chores later in the season, it becomes the most coveted position in the keep. He’s sure Vesemir is as amused as he is exasperated to watch them have the same arguments every year like clockwork.

Geralt knows that his brothers are expecting Jaskier to be laid up in bed, sore and tired and broken. Even Geralt is expecting him to complain just a little — it may have been Jaskier’s idea, but he loves to complain about anything and everything. So, everyone is at least a little surprised, one way or another, when Jaskier comes out of the keep after about half an hour, whistling cheerily. 

“Lovely day for it, lads,” he chirps. 

Geralt hadn’t really had a chance to properly look Jaskier over this morning. He’d been paying closer attention to his brothers, if he’s being honest. Now, though, he can’t help but take notice: Jaskier looks _different_. Gone is his usual finery and showy clothing, replaced by something more plain and practical for the kind of work they’re doing. Honestly, Geralt hadn’t even known that Jaskier _owned_ a simple tunic and trousers, and it looks almost wrong on him because really, Jaskier wearing practical clothing? But it also looks very good.

“Head out of the gutter, Wolf,” Eskel teases when Geralt stares for just a little too long.

“Fuck off,” Geralt answers with more embarrassment than actual irritation.

Jaskier gives him an appraising look that makes his spine tingle. “Really, darling, if anyone should be doing the ogling it’s me. Alas, we’ve work to do. I’ll simply have to content myself with watching you get all sweaty and shirtless from afar. Woe is me!”

This time, when Geralt shoves him, he does not hold his strength back. Jaskier stumbles only slightly, because he was caught off guard, and laughs. Eskel, for his part, looks mildly shocked that Jaskier would be able to withstand being shoved by a witcher. 

Before Vesemir can see them fucking around instead of actually doing work, they get back to it. Jaskier lifts less weight than he had been previously, of course, for several reasons. Firstly, now that they are awake and can see him, lifting too much would be too obvious. The other, Geralt would bet his swords on, is that Jaskier just feels like watching them work more. He doesn’t have it in him to be as annoyed as he’d like.

Lunch is about the same at Kaer Morhen as it is on the Path. After half a day of working their arses off they need fuel, but if they stop too long they risk allowing themselves to tire. So, hard bread, jerky, and cheeses are eaten as they stand off to the side, chatting between bites. They can’t linger too long, so as soon as they finish eating it’s right back to it. They finish the section Jaskier had started on this morning, and are halfway through another section by time they have to stop for the night. It’s the farthest they’ve been able to get in decades, for one reason or another. The perks of bringing a vampire to Kaer Morhen, he supposes. 

“Dear heart,” Jaskier says to him as they bathe before dinner, “I can definitely see the family resemblance.”

“Oh?” asks Geralt. He knows he’s taking Jaskier’s bait, but it’s difficult not to indulge him sometimes.

“You’re all big, strong, handsome, oblivious morons,” Jaskier answers. Just for that, Geralt dunks him under the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have officially been uploading daily for the past two months (started May 13)


	6. Chapter 6

They have a pretty regular routine at Kaer Morhen that Jaskier has already fallen into pretty well. After they bathe, they have a few hours of leisure time before dinner. While it isn’t _mandatory_ that they all sit and eat together in the dining hall, it’s understandable that they’d all want to. After all, they only see each other during the winter, and that in and of itself isn’t a guarantee. Plus, most of them travel alone. Geralt, unfortunately, is the only one with an intrepid, talented, handsome, loving companion such as him. (As if his witcher can hear his internal self-praise — which, come to think of it, he might be able to, in a sense — he gives Jaskier a very unimpressed _look_ , which the bard valiantly ignores.) 

The point is that they all take their meals together, and Jaskier is more than happy to be a part of that. Everyone needs company, after all, and though the common folk would disagree, he knows that witchers are absolutely included in that _everyone_. So, they all come together to eat, and as they sit for dinner that evening, Lambert asks Jaskier how he can do the kind of heavy lifting they’d all witnessed that morning.

“I know you’ve survived the Path with this asshole,” he says, pointing his spoon at Geralt, “but you’re only human. I wouldn’t have bet money on you being able to lift a fucking brick.”

With a cheeky wink, Jaskier answers, “Haven’t you ever heard to lift with your legs? I’ve been traveling with this one,” he also gestures to Geralt, “for decades now, _on foot_. Does wonders for my legs — wouldn’t you say, dear?” That last part is directed towards Geralt, who answers with an appreciative hum, if only to watch Lambert theatrically gag at the very obvious flirting.

Jaskier is no stranger to Geralt’s specific brand of teasing. He’s been on the receiving end of it more times than he can count. He pretends to be irritated by it but actually, it’s just nice to see Geralt joke around at all. Of course, now that he is not the one who has to deal with it, it’s so much more entertaining.

Who knew that Geralt could be such a little shit? Gods, he really wants to get to know the other witchers better — especially Vesemir — if only for the stories they could tell. He can hardly imagine how much _fun_ Geralt must have been, before the cruel world started trying to suck it all out of him.

That’s not to say that Geralt isn’t fun now, of course. As previously stated, he is unbelievably entertaining. He’s all sharp wit and dry humour, and Jaskier loves him so much he feels like his chest could burst. He just wonders if Geralt has always had this specific sense of humour, or if he’d developed it over time. 

He’s getting sidetracked, as he usually does, thinking about Geralt. Lambert is all but begging them to _‘stop looking at each other all lovey-dovey, it’s fucking gross’_. Riling the youngest witcher up is more fun than he’d thought possible. Honestly, he thought pushing _Geralt’s_ buttons was entertaining, but this is on a whole different level. 

“Wait,” Eskel cuts in, brow furrowed as though he’s been presented with a particularly vexing puzzle, “how long did you say you’ve known each other?”

Ah, there it is. Usually he’ll try to deflect, when asked questions like this, or put a little bit of a soothing, hypnotic element into his words to make whoever asked — and whoever heard them ask — forget that the numbers don’t quite add up. Of course, that doesn’t apply here. 

Is this where the game ends? He hopes not, but if it is, they’ll at least have a good laugh about it later. Gods know he already has plenty of ways to tease Lambert, once the whole vampire conversation is over and done with, so their winter will be far from boring either way.

“Oh, it’s been a few decades now,” Jaskier answers off-handedly, as though it really isn’t out of the ordinary. 

“Gods damn, Geralt,” Lambert sneers (and really, it’s as though he sneers almost everything he says). “You know we aren’t _actually_ supposed to steal kids, right?”

“Fuck off, Lambert,” Geralt grumbles.

“Boys, enough,” Vesemir barks before the two of them can really get into it. Gods, he and Yennefer are a little too similar for Jaskier’s comfort, sometimes.

“What? Look at him! There’s no way he can be older than his thirties,” Lambert says in a near-whine, like a petulant child who has been called out but refuses to admit that they were actually in the wrong.

“Oh, I’m far older than I look,” Jaskier answers flippantly. “Chalk it up to a flawless skincare routine and a strong family tree, but my thirties actually passed me by a good, long time ago.”

Eskel squints at him. It’s sort of adorable, actually, though he’s sure the man himself wouldn’t appreciate being told so and Geralt would probably not appreciate him complimenting another man — even (or perhaps especially) if that man is his brother. So, he’ll keep that to himself.

“How old are you?” Eskel asks him, looking genuinely confused and very cute.

Jaskier simply laughs. “Eskel, darling, one doesn’t just ask a gentleman his age!”

“He didn’t ask a gentleman, he asked you,” Geralt says with a smirk. 

“You wouldn’t know a gentleman if one bit you right on the arse!” Jaskier retorts. Then, pointing to himself, he adds, “Case in point!”

“Fucking _gross_!” Lambert shouts, and Jaskier isn’t entirely sure if the exaggerated gagging he follows it with is fully faked. 

Jaskier half expects Vesemir to yell at them again, even as the bard himself is _cackling_ with unbridled glee, but the eldest witcher simply heaves a world-weary sigh and stands, excusing himself for the evening and apparently leaving them to it. 

Apparently he is more than used to these sorts of antics. Jaskier would say he’s sorry, but that would be a downright lie. He knows how boring life can get after a few hundred years and would absolutely bet his last oren that secretly, Vesemir looks forward to this chaos each and every year. The fact that it’s apparently become predictable, well, Jaskier is more than happy to help with that.

“Why do I put up with you?” Geralt grouses (not for the first time since they’ve arrived here), though the soft smile on his face betrays how little he means it. It’s a small thing, that smile, but on Geralt’s face? He’s practically _beaming_ , and Jaskier adores it.

“Well, my bardic training, perhaps?” Jaskier answers with a sly grin and a hand on his witcher’s thigh. At Geralt’s questioning look, he leans in close, lips brushing Geralt’s jaw, and stage-whispers so the other two can hear, “I am, after all, a very _cunning linguist_.”

Lambert’s anguished shout makes the way that Geralt very suddenly, roughly, and _rudely_ shoves him to the hard ground more than worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my chapters mixed up in my head yesterday, but THAT was the joke I've been wanting to make for the two months I've been writing Witcher fanfic. Also Geralt is trans and no one will ever convince me otherwise.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let! Geralt! Be! Romantic!

Usually when people make little jabs and jibes about that specific part of his anatomy, it’s an insult. Honestly, Geralt takes half a moment to bristle when Jaskier makes his terrible pun, before reminding himself that Jaskier isn’t like that. Indeed, he’s never had a problem with it, never mentioned it outside of the bedroom (this one time notwithstanding), and Geralt knows that if Jaskier even thought his brothers _might_ not know he wouldn’t have said anything. 

So, after assuring himself that Jaskier is not being malicious to him, he allows himself to hate that pun as nature intended. 

“I’m actually shocked that you’ve never said that sooner,” he tells Jaskier later. 

The bard grins at him in that sunny way of his. “Darling, you would never believe how many times I’ve held it in, just for you.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “I’m honoured,” he says as flatly and insincerely as possible.

“Good,” Jaskier says, obviously ignoring his tone.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this infuriating man, but he can’t help but be thankful for it. 

The next few weeks pass rather uneventfully. A few hints are thrown in here and there. Jaskier bites high on his neck one night but, due to his advanced healing, it’s more or less gone by morning, so that isn’t really something his brothers can notice.

In their down time, they spend a lot of time together, as well as with his brothers. Jaskier plays with Geralt’s hair more than usual, if that’s even possible, and Geralt allows himself to well and truly relax into the feeling in a way he simply can’t when they’re out on the Path. 

At some point, someone tells the bard about the Mysterious Tower. It’s a stupid name and none of them can actually remember who, exactly, had come up with it. It’s really just a tower whose highest floor has been inaccessible for decades at least — perhaps even a century, or more — because someone had lost the key long ago. The wooden door is sturdier than one might think, and no one really wants to break down a perfectly good door for nothing more than curiosity’s sake, so it’s just remained locked. 

“I’m going to open the door,” Jaskier tells him one night when they’re alone and know no other witchers can hear them.

Geralt raises one eyebrow. “Good luck finding the key,” he says, but Jaskier simply laughs.

“Darling,” he says, not bothering to keep the mirth from his voice, “have you forgotten that this isn’t my only form? More importantly, that I can have _wings_?”

Oh. Yeah, admittedly, he had kind of forgotten, though he won’t admit to it. So, instead, he says, “Hmm,” and Jaskier laughs again because even without their bond he doesn’t need words to know what Geralt really means, not after all this time. 

The way that Jaskier laughs isn’t cruel or judgmental — he’s simply amused. Geralt still, admittedly, isn’t entirely used to not being judged. It’s nice, if a bit jarring at times. 

“If I shift forms far enough from the keep proper, I should be able to fly up nice and easy without anyone being the wiser,” the bard continues conversationally. “I slip through the window while they’re all sleeping, unlock the door, and Bob’s your uncle!”

Geralt never understood that phrase, incidentally. Do people generally have an uncle named Bob? He supposes that it doesn’t actually matter how common Uncle Bobs are or are not, and he’s sure that he’d never hear the end of it if he asked, so he brushes the thought aside and gives Jaskier a kiss, just because he can.

He does sort of wish that Jaskier’s ideas were less nocturnal. Admittedly, he’s gotten used to having the other man next to him in bed, and though he _can_ sleep without him, he’s never slept as well as he does now that they are together. Part of it is, perhaps, the knowledge that he is actually as close to safe as he has ever been. Jaskier is, after all, a higher vampire. If Geralt doesn’t intercept a threat when they’re on the road, Jaskier surely can. The bard himself has assured him of that many times by now, and even delivered on that promise once or twice.

Okay, look, the point is that he’s maybe gotten used to falling asleep with the man he loves and perhaps Jaskier makes him feel safe and kept and rather than being uncomfortable or even alarming it’s… nice. Being with Jaskier is nice. He can admit that, alright? 

To himself, that is.

And he knows he’s being sort of ridiculous — well, more than sort of. They’re both adults, more dangerous than most people or things they come across. And, again, they _are_ safe here, more than they ever are on the Path. So he can’t kid himself, not really. This isn’t a safety thing, it’s a _comfort_ thing. 

It’s almost impossible to believe that he’s got someone he’s comfortable with, let alone that his comfort is something that he not only is accepting, but actively seeking out. He’d never thought— well. That’s the thing, isn’t it? Without Jaskier, he never _would_ have thought. He wouldn’t have thought that he could have this kind of comfort, that he could _deserve_ it. He never would have thought that someone would _want_ him. And yet, here they are — he’s bonded to a ridiculously possessive higher vampire and while that should sound alarming, it really isn’t anything but nice. 

If he could go back in time and talk to the version of himself that had just met Jaskier, that younger Geralt would never believe him if he tried to tell him any of this. Eskel was right, though: he _is_ happier, he is doing better. Hell, he’s doing the best he ever has. 

“I love you too, sweet thing,” Jaskier murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

He still has to get used to the whole ‘occasionally sharing vague thoughts and feelings’ thing, but it’s more of a blessing and less of an annoyance than he would have thought. He doesn’t have to try to find words when he can’t, because Jaskier understands. Jaskier knows how he feels. And he knows that _nice_ is not the most fitting word here, and that he’s overusing it, but… it really is nice. Besides, they have time to get used to this.

Gods, they have _time_.

Geralt ends up falling asleep next to Jaskier, as he has been since they’d gotten together. He feels comfortable and warm and safe and loved and wanted and _kept_ , and even when he wakes up to an empty bed, the feeling doesn’t fade.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s not easy to sneak up on witchers. Jaskier knows this from experience. However, that experience is what ends up making it possible. See, he knows how rare a distracted witcher is, and he knows how to tell when a witcher has reached that rare state. The wolves of Kaer Morhen are as comfortable and unguarded as they can possibly be, snowed into their keep for the next few months, so he is able to creep in without alerting them to his presence.

Well, obviously being a higher vampire helps. He has to be careful with his powers, because of their magic-detecting necklaces (which, by the way, they _hate_ if he calls it a necklace). He is, however, rather stealthy by nature. He might be a bit clumsy for his kind, and he might pretend to be clumsy for a human, but when it _really_ counts, when he puts his mind to it, he can sneak about with the best of them.

The point is that he has a full, rare view of the morning domesticity between these three brothers, and he cherishes it with a warm heart and no small amount of glee.

“Where’s your bard?” Lambert asks with his mouth full, because apparently _manners_ are something they were never taught in witcher training.

Geralt shrugs. “What am I, his keeper?”

Well, that’s his cue, isn’t it? “No, darling, I rather think I’m yours,” Jaskier says as he saunters into the room. Geralt turns and makes eye contact with him, and Jaskier shoots his witcher a shit-eating grin. Usually, Geralt dreads that look, because it means that Jaskier is about to get into trouble. Thankfully, this time, Geralt is a part of that trouble. Even better, for once he has _agreed_ to that trouble in advance, so Jaskier knows that he doesn’t really mind.

He knows that Geralt enjoys when Jaskier is possessive over him, even if he pretends not to in the company of others. It appears that he is trying extra hard not to react, probably so that the others don’t know just how much it affects him with their witcher-y senses. Still, Jaskier sees the way that his love’s eyes dilate, hears the thrum of his blood rushing ever so slightly faster. 

“I’m not a pet,” he grumbles, perhaps because it’s what he thinks is expected of him.

“And yet, you let me take care of you,” answers Jaskier, now close enough to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I hate this,” Lambert groans, shoving what little is left of his breakfast away. “You guys are a fucking nightmare.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “This may be difficult to understand at your age, but we grown-ups sometimes kiss one another to show our love.”

“Stop acting like you’re older than me!” is the response he gets.

“Anyway,” Jaskier says, ignoring the youngest witcher altogether, “I’ve something to show you boys, if you’ll follow me.” Lambert grumbles something about Jaskier acting older than him, again (which, come on, he is. He might even be older than Vesemir, but he’s sort of afraid to ask). Once again, the bard ignores it.

“What is it?” Geralt asks, as though he doesn’t know. He can be a pretty good actor when he really puts his mind to it. Not enough to fool someone like Djikstra or Thaler, but maybe he’s got a career as a mummer in his future. 

(Gods, what a sight that would be!)

“Follow me,” Jaskier says, heading towards the Mysterious Tower. “Come on now, hurry up!” He injects as much excitement into his voice as he can without it sounding too over the top. 

Predictably, Geralt follows first. He may be impressively light-footed for his size, but after the decades they’ve spent together, it would be ridiculous for Jaskier to not be able to tell his walk apart from the others by now. He isn’t as tetchy as Geralt, but his vampire senses are nothing to sneeze at. 

As he walks, he takes to babbling with excitement. “You remember that tower you told me about?” 

“The Mysterious Tower?” Eskel responds, and Jaskier looks back at him, nodding with a wide grin.

“Yes! That’s the one!”

“What about it?” he asks.

“I opened the door!” crows the bard.

The three witchers stop behind him. When he looks, they are all looking at one another, probably having some kind of silent conversation that he isn’t privy to but can probably guess the gist of.

He rolls his eyes. “Come on then, if you don’t believe me. It’ll be easy to prove when we get there, won’t it?”

True to his word, when they get there the door is wide open. When he turns to face the witchers, their mouths are much the same. (Well, not Geralt’s. He is trying to hide his amusement from behind the other two, who gape at Jaskier.)

“The key’s been lost for _ages_ ,” Eskel says. “How’d you get in?”

“You pick the lock or something?” Lambert asks.

“No, remember when Clovis tried?” argues Eskel.

“Clovis was worthless,” Geralt snarls with surprising venom. Jaskier makes a mental note to ask about that later.

“Still, Eskel’s right. Slimy fuck knew how to pick a lock,” Lambert says.

“So, how _did_ you get in?” Eskel asks him again.

Jaskier shrugs. “Window.”

They stare at him again. He’d feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny if he wasn’t actively expecting and courting it. 

“What?”

“There’s no fucking way you could get in that window,” accuses Lambert, crossing his arms. “Not unless you can fly or something.”

Shrugging again, Jaskier says, “I don’t know what you want me to tell you. You asked, I answered. Anyway, have fun exploring your new secret room — I’m going to see if there’s anything left over for breakfast. Geralt, dear?”

“Hm?”

“Would you like to join me, or stay with your darling brothers?” asks Jaskier. 

Geralt shrugs (there is an awful lot of shrugging that goes on at Kaer Morhen, isn’t there?) and says, “I’ll come.”

“Oh, I bet you will,” snickers the bard. 

At this point, he almost feels bad for Lambert. Not enough to stop teasing him, of course, but still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lambert is really giving off that preteen boy, UGH I HATE THIS FAMILY I'M RUNNING AWAY vibe and I'm having far too much fun with it to actually be sorry.
> 
> And don't worry, you'll find out what's in the tower tomorrow. But before that let’s play a game. Tweet me @poselikeateam what you THINK is in there


	9. Chapter 9

Of course Geralt was curious about what was in the tower. The thing is, he wasn’t curious enough to test his acting skills. If he stayed behind with his brothers, he was going to have to pretend to be as confused as them — or worse, have to figure out how to deal with questions that he could-but-wouldn’t answer. 

So, he’d followed Jaskier to the dining area because it’s not like he couldn’t find out later, either from someone else or from exploring on his own. Jaskier, it turns out, had no idea what to make of the things in the tower. It looked like junk to him, mostly, though he had of course snooped around in there. Of course, it isn’t only junk, he finds out later — no, it’s a rare and valuable cache of treasure that only a witcher could properly identify.

That is to say, it’s every single thing that has ever been confiscated from the boys trained there. Apparently, after they stopped training new witchers, Vesemir had just never bothered with the tower again. And Geralt can sort of understand that — after all, going in there would only be a painful reminder of all that the oldest witcher had lost. 

Still, it is very exciting for the other three witchers.

It’s rare for them to be able to reminisce together about their time here without being choked up by difficult, painful memories. Going through their old things — and the old things of countless other boys — is a sort of catharsis that they never considered. Jaskier, apparently, is more than happy that they have this, and not only because of the embarrassing childhood stories he gets to hear because of it.

And speaking of his bard, apparently, his brothers have decided that Jaskier is both a liar and an excellent locksmith. They simply refuse to believe that he could have come in through the window, because there is no way that a human could. At this point, Geralt is embarrassed to admit that he knows any of these idiots. Yes, that includes Jaskier. 

It’s almost not fun anymore, so much as it is embarrassing. They really aren’t making a good impression for their guild, is what he’s getting at. It’s like they’re so convinced that Jaskier must be human, that they won’t even consider the evidence that he isn’t.

Yes, Geralt also did that, and for far longer. No, he is not bringing it up.

Well, whatever. What’s important in this specific moment is that his idiot brothers, who think his lover is human, are trying to goad said lover into a drinking contest. Yes, a human wouldn’t stand a chance in a drinking contest against a witcher. That, however, is not relevant, because they are not challenging a human. If they want to get Jaskier drunk, they need to give him blood, but of course they don’t _know_ that, so they’re trying to give him the swill that Lambert’s been brewing. 

And again, for a _human_ it would be no contest, it would knock him out in minutes. A higher vampire, though?

“If you can outdrink him, Lambert, I’ll give you every coin I earn for the next five years.”

Lambert gapes at Geralt, who simply takes a swig of the godsawful stuff in his own cup. 

“Well,” says Jaskier with a winning smile that definitely does _not_ make Geralt want to forget all about the wager and drag him to their room, “I suppose I need to do my best, then. After all, your comfort is my comfort, dear heart, and I’d rather not have to work twice as hard to earn twice the coin for us.”

“What the fuck, Geralt?” Eskel asks. His tone and expression are almost hilariously gobsmacked. “How drunk are you?”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, and looks pointedly at his mostly-full cup. “Not enough,” he answers, taking another swig. “You want in on this bet, or you want to referee?”

“I know what I get when I win, but say your bard manages to outdrink me. What do you get then?” Lambert asks dubiously. He doesn’t seem to believe that this is actually happening. Probably smart. 

Geralt smiles at him, all teeth. “Honestly? Knowing you lost to my bard is more than enough. So, come on. Or are you scared?”

And that seems to do it. It’s easy to bait Lambert, really, and Geralt almost feels bad, only he doesn’t feel bad at all. The cocky bastard shouldn’t make it so easy if he doesn’t want to get himself embarrassed later. The sooner he learns that, the better — especially if he’s anything like this on the Path.

“Alright, yeah,” he says, flashing a toothy grin of his own. “You ready, songbird?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Jaskier answers pleasantly.

Geralt watches his lover and his brother throw back shot after shot, though he drinks at a more sedate pace as he spectates. Eskel barely has time to drink in comparison, making honest to Gods _tally marks_ as he follows their little contest with growing awe. 

Usually, when Jaskier is in for a night of drinking, he pretends to get drunk. It’s still not at a normal pace, but it’s enough that no one will ask any questions, if only because everyone else is _actually_ drunk. Now, though, he doesn’t even bother. He throws each shot back like water. At one point, he actually gets Lambert to start singing along to _The Merry Maids of Nilfgaard_ before the youngest witcher realises he’s being had and scowls, throwing back another shot in open defiance.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Lambert slurs — at least, Geralt _thinks_ that’s what he’s saying. He’s actually nearly incomprehensible by now. “How’s? How y’get, so drinky? No drunking?” 

Jaskier laughs, and maybe Geralt is a little drunk too, because it kind of sounds like bells. “Years of practice, pup,” he answers.

If looks could kill, Lambert’s scowl could burn down the fucking keep. “Not… a fuckin’ baby.”

“Of course not, dear,” the bard says in an obviously patronising tone. He probably knows that it’s only going to rile Lambert up more, and of course it does. The youngest witcher takes another shot before falling over backwards. Jaskier only tilts his head, then looks at Eskel and adds, “Well, I think I’ve won, then?”

“What the _actual_ fuck,” hisses Eskel in clear disbelief. 

“I suppose we’ve won those bragging rights, eh, dearest?” Jaskier asks Geralt with a grin. 

“Be glad to brag about you all the Gods-damned time,” Geralt grumbles. Perhaps he really is a little more drunk than he’d thought.

Jaskier only trills out a very pleased, if slightly surprised laugh. The apples of his cheeks darken just a shade or two, which is really quite fetching on him. “You flatterer,” he says. “Come on, up you get. I think it’s time we all went to bed.”

“Bed sounds nice,” Geralt says. Jaskier and bed are a wonderful combination, after all. And anyway, they can gloat in the morning.


	10. Chapter 10

Usually being around people who are drinking, without having a bit of something else to drink himself, is fucking exhausting. Last night, though? That was fantastic. Perhaps it’s really the company that’s important. Geralt is such an affectionate drunk — it’s rare that he allows himself to get to that level of inebriation, because he usually prefers to be in possession of all of his faculties, and getting him drunk can be ridiculously expensive besides. 

Of course, Jaskier himself had had just a bit to drink after bed. How could he not? Geralt, in his drunken state, had nearly begged him for it, and he is nothing if not eager to please.

The next morning, he and Vesemir are the least hungover people in the whole damned place. It’s actually a thing of beauty, one of those rare times he really prides himself on his old age. Well, his age has little to do with it, but he can’t help but preen anyway. After all, experience is really a virtue, isn’t it? Vesemir, with his age and wisdom, would never have been cocky enough to challenge a higher vampire to a drinking contest. 

Ah, it’s pure waffle and he knows it. Doesn’t mean he cares, though. 

“Good morning, my darlings!” he crows, just this side of too loud. 

“Fuck off,” Lambert groans. “You cheated.”

“Eskel, dear, did you see me cheat?” he asks as cheerfully as he can. He knows he’s being a prick, that’s why it’s fun.

“He outdrank you, Lambert,” Eskel answers. “Don’t know how, but you lost.”

“Told you,” Geralt says with a tired smirk. 

It’s at that point that Vesemir decides that the three of them should run the walls, whatever that means. (Jaskier finds out what that means when he watches them, and holy shit.) 

“Hell of a punishment,” he remarks as he stands next to his father-in-law-by-a-technicality.

“They need to learn something,” Vesemir answers, “even if they don’t know what it is they’re learning just yet.”

Jaskier stifles a laugh, continuing to watch three witchers in varying degrees of hungover-ness perform exceptional feats of acrobatics and athleticism. After a few minutes, he says, “Vesemir?” When the witcher in question grunts in acknowledgement, Jaskier continues, “I’d like to ask you something, if you’re amenable.”

“Go ahead,” he answers.

Jaskier almost hesitates, before deciding that it is the exact opposite of what he should do. “I know it might be a silly question, but when did you know? I mean, when did you figure out what I am?” 

It’s a question that’s been nagging at him for a while now. He prides himself on his ability to be as human as possible. Even with all his experience as a witcher, there’s just no way Vesemir could have clocked him that quickly. And he knows Geralt has talked about him, so he’s relatively sure that Vesemir had figured him out before they’d even met. The question is ‘when?’, followed closely by ‘how?’

Vesemir hums, and Jaskier is half afraid that that’s the end of it. After all, it’s the way Geralt ends uncomfortable conversations when presented with questions he doesn’t want to answer. However, he actually gets an answer a few moments later. Vesemir is still watching his surrogate sons when he speaks, but there is no doubt that he is speaking to Jaskier.

“Geralt came back one winter, griping about you,” he says. Jaskier thinks there’s a note of fondness in his voice, though admittedly he doesn’t know the eldest witcher well enough just yet to be able to tell for sure. “He used to complain constantly about this young bard who would follow him around, didn’t know what was good for him, no self preservation instinct. He couldn’t figure you out, why you’d follow him even after you’d gotten your songs.”

That sounds about right, though it doesn’t really answer his question. Do witchers become senile after a certain age? Was Vesemir just fucking with him, and actually had no intention of answering his question from the beginning? After a short pause, though, the man continues speaking. 

“Said something that caught my ear. He was fighting a garkain. Beast got a swipe in, could have ended him. Then along comes that bard, who ignores him entirely in favour of lecturing the creature until he’s red in the face.” Vesemir shakes his head, chuckles lowly. “He thought you were done for, until the garkain made some noise he’d never heard and fled.”

Jaskier actually remembers that. The big brute had almost tried to argue with him. Yes, he spoke Common to it, but he knows that there was no way it could deny his power or influence no matter what language he used. The perks of old age, he supposes. 

“I tend to take care of what’s mine,” he answers without really thinking about it. Shit, is Vesemir going to take offense to that? He sincerely hopes not. It is the truth, after all. He doesn’t want his bond mate’s father figure to be upset with him, but… Geralt is _his_ , the same that he is Geralt’s. The bond mark proves it, even if their words and actions somehow did not.

“Good thing, too,” answers Vesemir. Jaskier relaxes just a little. Thank goodness he’s the reasonable sort. “Way he tells it, he wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t done that. Even if he did think it was stupid at the time.”

“He wasn’t too pleased,” Jaskier agrees. 

Neither of them really says anything else. Jaskier isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks that Vesemir just thanked him, in his own way. It makes him feel sort of warm, honestly. He’s never… well, he’s been around a very long time, but he’s frankly never given a single fuck what his lovers’ parents think of him, or of his affairs. 

It’s a strange feeling, to suddenly care about what those outside of his relationship think. At the same time, it isn’t. He finds that it’s only strange because it’s something new (and what a concept, still experiencing new things at his age). It isn’t strange when he thinks about it. These people are Geralt’s family. They are important to his bond mate. They are a part of his relationship, simply because of their relationship with Geralt. What’s intriguing to him is that he’s fine with it. Gods, more than — he actually welcomes it.

Geralt deserves to have people who care about him. He deserves loved ones, a family. The witcher training took that from him in a sense, but it gave him a better family, in Jaskier’s humble opinion. After all, a family that’s willing to give you up to a grueling experience that you may or may not survive is no family worth having, if you ask him. The people here, though? He gets the distinct impression that any of them would lay down their lives for each other without hesitation.

So, yes, their opinions are very important to him, because they are important to Geralt. He enjoys fucking with them, sure, but only as far as Geralt allows. If his witcher tells him to back off, or tells him that he’s going too far, he’ll stop immediately. It’s why he runs all of his ideas by Geralt before going through with them. After all, his wolf knows them far better than he does. 

“I love you,” he says when Geralt comes back from his little punishment exercise. He doesn’t take any note of how sweaty his love is, just plasters himself to his side like he was born to be there, pressing kisses to sweat-slick skin and ignoring Lambert’s colourful protests.

“Love you too,” Geralt rumbles, and Jaskier beams. It’s so _rare_ for him to be comfortable enough to say it in front of others. In this moment, Jaskier doesn’t give a fuck _how_ sweaty his bond mate is. He’s going to be pressed against him until Geralt himself tells him to fuck off.


	11. Chapter 11

“We need to talk.”

It’s not the kind of thing that Geralt generally likes to hear, because in his experience it’s not generally the start of a pleasant conversation. He’d like to avoid whatever this is altogether, but it’s not really his decision when Eskel corners him, arms crossed, expression grave. 

Geralt is pretty sure that it’s no coincidence that they’re alone. Jaskier has fallen into one of his hyperfocused creative moods, and Geralt knows better than to disturb him when he’s at this specific level of focus, so he’d left the bard in their room and gone off to train in the yard with Vesemir for a while. After he’d grown tired of that, he’d taken a nice, long bath, before he finally decided to see if Lambert wanted to play a few rounds of Gwent. Only, before he’d gotten that far, he’d been intercepted by Eskel, and now here they are.

“Why do I feel like Jaskier’s done something?” he jokes. After all, how many times has some angry farmer or nobleman used those exact words on his bard, before they’d gotten together? Unfortunately, Eskel’s reaction confirms that, somehow, Jaskier is the cause of whatever this is. “Fuck, what did he do this time?”

“I don’t know,” Eskel says. “I was hoping you’d enlighten me.”

“Uh, what?”

His brother sighs. “Geralt, our rooms are not far apart.”

If not for the mutagens, Geralt is pretty sure he’d be blushing. “I’m not sure why you’d want details—”

“Do not finish that statement,” Eskel pleads. “I can say with absolute certainty that I do not want to know what he has done to you in _that_ sense.”

“Eskel,” Geralt says, perhaps just this side of impatient, “please speak plainly, because this might be the worst conversation I have ever had in my life, and I’d rather it be over as soon as possible.”

Huffing out another sigh, Eskel says, “Yeah, okay. So, look. I don’t want to throw around baseless accusations, which is why I didn’t say anything sooner. But… do you know what he is?” Geralt stares at him. Apparently misinterpreting this, Eskel says (very gently) “He’s not human, Geralt.”

He can’t help it. Geralt actually laughs. Fuck, he hasn’t laughed this hard in years, he’s sure of it. Eskel is staring at him like he’s grown another head. 

“I’m serious,” his brother insists, which only makes it funnier. Geralt shakes his head, trying to stop laughing so that he can respond.

“Eskel, I know,” he says. “We’ve been fucking with you all winter. Wanted to see how long it’d take you and Lambert to figure it out.”

Eskel stares at him, then punches his shoulder. That’s fair, he deserves it. 

“You asshole,” Eskel says, his own mouth turning up into a grin. 

“What finally gave it away?” Geralt asks. He can’t help but be curious. 

The other witcher shakes his head. “My medallion vibrates sometimes when you two are... For fuck’s sake, I can’t believe Vesemir let you bring a fucking incubus here.”

Holy shit, what?

Geralt doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or scream. Obviously he’ll do neither, and settle for staring at Eskel instead. 

“He’s not… an incubus,” the white-haired witcher finally answers. 

His brother frowns at him, obviously thrown off guard. “What do you mean? You just said—”

“That he isn’t human,” interrupts Geralt. 

They stare at each other for a good, long moment, before hearing footsteps approaching them, louder than any witcher’s. It isn’t long before Jaskier is at his side, frowning at the picture the two of them must make in this weird standoff of theirs. It’s possible that he’d been able to sense Geralt’s… distress? Discomfort? Either way, possessive creature that he is, he’d probably wanted to investigate, make sure Geralt is okay, even though they both know he doesn’t really need to. 

“Darling, are you alright?” he asks, not-so-subtly placing himself between the two witchers. Geralt isn’t entirely sure whether it’s a conscious thing or not. He can’t help but feel a little fondness towards the bard trying to instinctively protect him from Eskel, of all people.

“What are you?” Eskel asks him. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem upset, just puzzled. It makes sense — he never did like riddles he couldn’t solve.

Jaskier looks at Eskel, then back at Geralt, then back to Eskel again. “A humble bard,” he answers in perfect mock confusion.

“He knows you aren’t human,” Geralt says.

“You told him?”

“No,” snorts Geralt, “he figured it out… sort of.”

“What do you mean _sort of_?”

Eskel looks away, like a child who’s just been caught trying to steal sweets. 

“I mean that he got the ‘not human’ part right,” answers Geralt, trying to save his brother at least some embarrassment. He’s feeling generous today.

Unfortunately, Jaskier is not, and can see through him like a fucking window. “And what did he think I was, exactly?”

“Incubus,” Eskel mutters, still not looking at the bard.

Jaskier stifles a laugh behind his hand. “Well, not a terrible guess, I suppose. You’re not the first to accuse me of it, at any rate.”

“Can we tell him?” Geralt asks. It’s not as though he needs the bard’s _permission_ , but, well, they _are_ doing this together, so it’s only fair to consult him on the rules. “No fun now that he sort of knows.”

“Hm, yes, it does spoil the game a bit,” Jaskier answers with an easy smile. 

“So… what are you?” Eskel asks again.

Geralt and Jaskier look at one another. The witcher puts a hand to the collar of his shirt, and the bard nods, still smiling. Eskel looks between the two of them, confused, until Geralt tilts his neck just so and pulls his shirt aside, enough to fully bare his bond mark. His brother looks at it, then looks at the bard, who is now flashing a fanged grin at him.

“Oh, fuck,” says Eskel, “I’m an idiot.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

Thankfully, Eskel is _such_ a dear, and has given them his word that he won’t breathe a word of Jaskier’s nature to Lambert. At this point, they’re keeping the whole thing going more out of principle than anything. After all, this has been going on for more than half the damned season now. It might have started to get old if Eskel wasn’t suddenly also in on it, but he really breathes new life into the whole charade.

It’s been maybe a week and a half since Eskel sort of figured out what he is. Lambert seems to be at least somewhat aware that he is being left out of something — a joke, or a secret (though little does he know it is both). He keeps pinning the three of them (individually and collectively) with this suspicious glare. Jaskier can practically hear him grinding his teeth from across the keep.

Honestly, they don’t slip up on purpose. If anything, he almost thinks this is a sign from above that their little game’s end is long overdue. 

It’s the middle of the night, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. It’s all very romantic. He’s on Geralt’s lap in the courtyard, but they aren’t doing anything untowards. The thing is, with all of the scrutiny Lambert’s been putting them under lately, it’s not been as easy for Jaskier to have a drink, so to speak. 

It actually seems as though every time they get a moment to themselves, something happens. Lambert is challenging Geralt to a game of Gwent, Vesemir needs them to do something, Eskel wants to chat — and he likes the other witchers, really, he does. It’s just that he would like to have some fucking time alone with his bond mate, thank you.

Their days have been so busy that by time they get to their room, they usually both just sort of want to go to sleep. And even if they don’t, if they have the time and energy to do other, more _amorous_ activities, he knows that Geralt is exhausted, and frankly Jaskier really does not need blood _that_ badly. He doesn’t need to take it from someone who really needs to keep his strength up, witcher healing or no.

In the past, he has gone a _long_ time without drinking blood. It’s not pleasant by any means, but he _can_. Consider it one of the many perks of being a higher vampire: he won’t _die_ without it, no matter how uncomfortable it gets. 

Of course, back then he hadn’t had a bond mate who can be almost exhaustingly overprotective at times and can feel when Jaskier is not taking care of that particular need. 

Hence their current situation. Jaskier is on Geralt’s lap not because they are doing anything filthy, but because it’s the easiest and most comfortable position for him to get his teeth in the witcher’s neck. 

Sure, they could be doing it in their room, but why? They’re tired of being cooped up in there if they want a moment alone. Besides, everyone else is probably busy if they aren’t asleep, and it’s such a beautiful evening. Even if either of them could properly be bothered by the cold, they would be able to keep each other warm. Geralt makes him feel warm always, in a metaphorical sense. 

Of course, his thoughts are hazy, as they tend to be when he indulges in this particular habit. Not for the first time, he wonders if all witcher blood is delicious, or if that’s just another droplet in the sea of things that are uniquely Geralt. His darling Geralt, who cards roughened fingers through his hair gently — so gently, as though a creature such as Jaskier could be fragile. He knows, of course, that it has nothing to do with perceived fragility, but with the way Geralt sees him as something worthy of protecting, of cherishing. It’s the same way that Jaskier sees him, though admittedly the bard has an easier time of understanding it than his White Wolf. 

“Get a room,” Lambert sneers from somewhere behind Jaskier and in front of Geralt. 

Perhaps it’s because he’s so out of it at the moment, floating in the hazy pleasure that blood tends to give him, that he doesn’t have a biting response. He can feel more than hear the rumble of Geralt’s, “Fuck off, Lambert, why are you even out here?” and he pulls away from the lovely neck he’s latched onto. 

“Wh— are you bleeding?” asks the younger witcher in what, at least for him, is probably some level of alarm. Ah, those witcher senses. He can probably pick up the sweet scent of Geralt’s blood. 

Jaskier turns around to face the youngest Wolf. He always has been a bit of a messy eater, and again, if he were in his right mind he would have expected the way Lambert recoils at the sight of his blood-slicked mouth and chin. Somewhat self-consciously, he licks his lips, trying to clean himself up.

“Surprise!” he crows, a little wobbly, when he remembers that Lambert actually didn’t know what he is before this moment. There’s a bit of a lisp to it, since his fangs haven’t quite retracted yet, and he feels Geralt laugh against his back. 

It takes a bit for Jaskier to come down from the floaty, drunk-high feeling he’s come under. To be fair, he had planned on being allowed to be intoxicated all evening. What he had _not_ planned for was a difficult conversation, which Lambert is apparently dead-set on having. At least Eskel had made this easy on him.

He is fully aware that Lambert has anger issues. Lambert’s not a bad person, he’s just not hung up on the concept of _being nice_. He has an almost dangerous deficiency in vitamin _giving a fuck_. So Jaskier isn’t necessarily surprised that Lambert has no filter to speak of, and he’s certainly too old and self-assured to actually be _hurt_ by anything he says, but it doesn’t make it any less irritating, _especially_ when he is acutely aware of how it affects _Geralt_. 

Jaskier and Geralt are exhaustingly similar in some ways, and one of those is how fiercely protective each man is over the other. Jaskier doesn’t really care if people are going to talk shit on him for being a _monster_ , because, _so what_? By definition, sure, he’s a monster — but he’s found that more often than not, it’s those who call him one that are the _real_ monsters. And Geralt lets the insults that townspeople throw at him roll off of his back like water off of a duck, because people have always hated witchers, so why would he bother himself with what they think of him? But Geralt refuses to accept when anyone mistreats his bard, and Jaskier has had to be pulled out of too many fights to count because someone insulted his witcher. 

So when Lambert says, “You are aware that you’re a witcher, right? You’re supposed to kill monsters, not fuck them,” it takes all of Jaskier’s vampiric strength to keep Geralt from outright tackling his brother. 

“It’s not our fault that you were the last to figure it out,” Jaskier says, even as he holds Geralt firmly around the waist. 

Lambert stares at him. “You mean everyone else was fucking _in on this_?”

Jaskier would shrug, if his shoulders weren’t otherwise occupied. “Vesemir knew before Geralt did, apparently. He doesn’t have a problem with it.”

“No, well, he never did have a problem with shit that could kill us,” he spits. The youngest witcher’s tone is so bitter that Jaskier starts to realise, actually, this isn’t really about him. 

“Enough,” Geralt snaps. He has stopped fighting against Jaskier’s grip, but that isn’t enough to make the bard let go, because if he knows his lover (and he’s pretty fucking sure he does, thank you) he’ll jump on the opportunity to strike the second Jaskier lets his guard down. “We all went through the same shit here. You’re not fucking special, so why don’t you get that fucking chip off of your shoulder before I knock it off for you.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier admonishes. 

“Oh, that’s rich—” Lambert starts, but Vesemir and Eskel are there now, standing in the middle of everything. What a circus this has become.

“That is _enough_ , all of you!” Vesemir barks. It’s nearly a roar, and even Jaskier almost flinches. 

“Fuck you, old man,” Lambert spits. Jaskier understands why these men are called Wolves — he can almost _see_ Lambert’s hackles raise. 

Now that the other two witchers are here, Jaskier feels more comfortable letting go of Geralt. They can stop him from doing something stupid, and thankfully, Geralt seems to realise that too, because he doesn’t lunge at his brother like he might have if it were still just the three of them. The bard takes a smooth step between them and looks Lambert in the eyes, hands on his hips. 

“Now, listen here,” he starts with all the authority of old age that he never actually uses. “I am a monster, sure, by definition. I have also been in this keep for half the ploughing winter, and haven’t done a single thing to hurt anyone. Was it a bit mean of us to play this trick on you? Sure, but you’re a big boy, so you can get the fuck over it. Eskel didn’t throw a bloody tantrum, so I trust you can learn to conduct yourself like the grown man you insist you are.

“I have been with Geralt for _decades_ ,” he continues, not giving Lambert a moment to retort. “I know damn well that you have been through a lot of shit. Is it fair? No! The way humans treat you is appalling, the way you treat yourselves is depressing. Everything that’s gotten you here was nothing short of tragic and despite what Geralt says, you have every right to process your trauma in whatever way you see fit. But you listen here — do _not_ let the bastards get the better of you. You get treated so terribly by everyone else, I will never understand why you would treat yourselves and each other that way! So, for fuck’s sake, you two had better apologise to each other and hug it out right now or so help me you will see just how dangerous an angry, immortal poet can be!”

Everyone is quiet. The air is unnaturally still. Jaskier is, admittedly, bracing himself for the strong possibility that Lambert will hit him. 

Then, Geralt takes a single step forward.

“Jaskier is important to me,” he grumbles. “I don’t take kindly to threats to his person. I… overreacted. And I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

It’s silent again, and then Lambert sighs and says, “Yeah, I was a dick. He’s far from the worst guy I’ve ever met. You could do worse.”

“Now hug,” Jaskier says, half-joking, if only to break the tension. To his surprise and unparalleled glee, they come together and _do that_. It’s more of a gruff, slapping each other on the back sort of thing than hug, but he’ll take it.

“So, we’re all good?” Eskel asks. 

“Yeah, we’re good,” Lambert grumbles. 

“Mhm,” agrees Geralt.

“Well, since that’s out of the way,” Vesemir cuts in smoothly, “you three idiots are coming to the library at dawn. Apparently, we need to go over the bestiary again. At length.”

The three younger witchers groan, and Jaskier can’t help but enjoy it.

A very good winter indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that conversation you can have with Lambert in the Witcher 3 where he's like "here's why I'm so fucking bitter" and through the whole quest he talks about how much he resents Vesemir and makes it very clear that watching the other boys he trained with die was very traumatic? And Geralt's like trying to be supportive but clearly does not process trauma the same way, and you can actually tell him "we all went through the same thing". AND if you negotiate with the trolls, Lambert's like "witchers are supposed to KILL monsters" and Geralt's like "yeah the BAD ones". 
> 
> The point is Lambert needs therapy, and as much as I wanted to leave the angst out of this fic, Lambert is in it so that's just not feasible. 
> 
> Anyway I really hope you enjoyed it, I had a lot of fun writing this mess and from the lovely comments I've been getting it's been fun to read too. Next few fics will be oneshots, and I'm going to be putting some work into my own novel, so we'll see what the future brings.


End file.
